


At the Hour of Doom

by Lady_Branwyn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Brothers, Character Study, Drabble, Father-Son Relationship, Ficlet, Friendship, Gen, Gondor, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Minas Tirith, Osgiliath, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Branwyn/pseuds/Lady_Branwyn
Summary: Short fics from Gondor during the War of the Ring





	1. Best Laid Plans (Boromir, Faramir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "River" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

The wooden decking shone with oil, and barrels sat above the keystones. Boromir tore the cover from the bucket, his eyes gleaming in the sudden glow of embers. “Into the river. I will follow you shortly.”

Faramir watched his brother warily. “We agreed that we would both start the fires.”

“That plan is too dangerous. There isn’t time for debate.” Then Boromir gave him a brotherly shove toward the edge of the bridge.

“Agreed.” Faramir neatly stepped aside as his brother flung himself into the Anduin. A mighty splash was followed by spluttered curses on the sneaking ways of rangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien says that the bridge at Osgiliath was "thrown down," but the only quick way to destroy it (without using explosives) would have been to burn away wooden sections. Perhaps it was built with a wooden deck on stone supports. A hot enough fire would probably damage the masonry, too.


	2. Current (Aragorn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Shiny" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

Aragorn stared ahead of the boats. They had no pilot to guide them, but that willow branch had begun to drift faster. Here they must strike for the shore. It was death to fight these waters; none could prevail against their force.

The sound and fume of Rauros shimmered in the air. As they pressed the oars against the current, he glanced toward the precipice.

Sailing faster and faster, the willow branch neared the edge. There it lingered, foam surging against black twigs, before it fell and vanished in the golden haze.

Later, he would marvel at his own blindness.


	3. Geometry (Faramir, Denethor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Angle"challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

In those first days of grief, Denethor scarcely spoke to him. During their silent meals, his father stared at the empty chair and would look away in surprise if Faramir made a sound.

Faramir thought of his childhood studies, when he had learned to draw shapes with ruler and compass. He had pictured his family as a lopsided triangle, with Boromir having the longest side. The lines were unequal, yet still were they joined, creating an unbroken whole.

Now Boromir’s side was erased, so all that was left were he and his father, the two diverging lines of an angle.


	4. Reading the Signs (Faramir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Speedily" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

A ranger learned to read the signs, swiftly scanning the woods as he traveled. Even the craftiest foe left a trail, and to the trained eye, a leaf turned astray was a banner.

After Boromir’s death, their father had ceased to heed reason, yet this change was not from grief alone. His stern mind was bent, like a branch pushed aside by the enemy’s passage. Faramir knew not how this could happen, for his father was guarded behind walls of stone, yet he feared that he read the signs aright--for long had he been a scout in dark places.


	5. Two Hundred (Forlong, Denethor)

Old Forlong did not lie to his men. Though he lacked the foresight of his lord, he knew the likely outcome of this fight. The armies of Gondor would be trapped on the plain between the mountains and river, their path of retreat blocked by the corsairs.

He had always felt as a father to his people, and what father would order his sons to march to a needless death? Though many were willing to go, in the end he chose only two hundred, the oldest of his soldiers. Grey-bearded and grim, they shouldered their axes and set out for Minas Tirith.

“So few? Only two hundreds?” Lord Denethor glared like a stoat with its foot caught in a snare.

“Yes, sire.” Forlong deemed that the less he said, the better.

“I expected a full two thousand or more.”

“They were all that could be spared. We had word of the corsairs.” He hoped that his sunburned skin hid the flush of shame. Despite his many years, he was not well-practiced in lying.

“And you need to guard your borders.”

“Yes, sire,” old Forlong replied. The lie was bitter on his tongue, but not as bitter as speaking the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Forlong!' men shouted. 'True heart, true friend! Forlong!' But when the men of Lossarnach had passed they muttered: 'So few! Two hundreds, what are they? We hoped for ten times the number. That will be the new tidings of the black fleet. They are sparing only a tithe of their strength. Still every little is a gain.'  
> \--"Minas Tirith," _The Return of the King_


	6. Doled Out By Order (Faramir, Original Character)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Breakfast" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community  
> Mag the Cook is borrowed from Just_Ann_Now

_While the siege lasts_  
_Each soldier shall be allowed for breakfast_  
_One half loaf bread, one pint milk, one ounce butter_

Mag tapped her foot and scowled as she read. Plain bread and milk would be cold comfort for men who were weary from fighting. Lord Faramir looked nearly white from exhaustion.

And the bread wasn’t even fresh. What good was stale bread? Then the foot tapping stopped, and she smiled.

“Mag, you are worth a whole host of Riders,” Faramir proclaimed as she set out pans of bread pudding, rich with spices and raisins and sweetly gilded with honey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'What is the time?' said Pippin yawning.  
> 'Past the second hour,' said Gandalf. 'Time to get up and make yourself presentable. You are summoned to the Lord of the City to learn your new duties.'  
> 'And will he provide breakfast?'  
> 'No! I have provided it: all that you will get till noon. Food is now doled out by order.'  
> Pippin looked ruefully at the small loaf and (he thought) very inadequate pat of butter which was set out for him, beside a cup of thin milk. 
> 
> \--"The Siege of Gondor," _The Return of the King_


	7. Late (Aragorn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Late" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

The dead rustled like a forest in winter as the rangers made their cold camp. Aragorn knew he must rest against the morrow’s need, so he cast himself on the ground, soon falling into uneasy dreams.

_Red fire encircled the walls of stone; while above, the white banner was hidden by smoke. Too few, the defenders had broken and fled. Setting aside the white rod, the steward took up the black orb in its stead._

Aragorn awoke and lay staring into the starless sky. He begrudged his body these hours of rest, hours stolen from the lives of other men.


	8. Full Complement (Faramir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Complement" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

“We could muster no larger complement of riders, lord,” the grey-haired sergeant told him. “We are short of horses, and men will be needed on the walls.”

His rangers were still stowing their gear on the borrowed mounts, as what was left of Gondor’s cavalry watched in stolid silence. Some of the horsemen had seen too many winters to ride out on a foray, and here and there he saw the white flash of bandages. He watched as a stableman adjusted the straps on his ill-fitting armor.

“Carry on, sergeant,” Faramir replied. Never was there a greater compliment than this.


	9. The Tide (Imrahil)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Wrath"challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

"Is the lord Denethor here?"

The guards fell back without a word. _He is your liegelord,_ Imrahil thought, yet the blood sang in his ears like the tide. With careful steps, he crossed the hall. He bore a heavy burden, but he dared not stumble or falter.

"Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds."

Denethor rose from his seat.

 _Your kinsman and friend,_ Imrahil repeated, as he dropped to one knee. Gently, he lowered his nephew to the floor. Yet how he burned to raise a mailed fist! To strike that proud face and shatter that cold ivory mask.


	10. The Oathbreakers (Aragorn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Ghosts and Ghouls" challenge at Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community  
> Rather AU

With the creak of tackle, the standard of Isildur was hauled up the mast. The faithless dead watched from the shore.

“Depart and be at rest!” the lord Aragorn shouted. Even as he spoke, he espied a shadow less blurred than the others. Still housed in flesh, it had not faded.

“Bide awhile, Boromir of Gondor!” he longed to cry, but he feared to burden the dead with a curse. His eyes stung from the smoke of battle, and he wept. Gray mists closed around the tall shadow; then the wind blew them aside, leaving naught but empty darkness.


	11. Last Defence of the City (Denethor, Pippin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Topsy-turvy (Alternate Universe) challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community

“Careful!” Denethor snarled as the household guards gently raised the litter.

Peregrin knelt before him. “Do not send me away, lord.”

“Indeed not, Master Halfling, for now you may be of great service. Go with these men to the healers.” Handing him the white rod of office, the steward commanded, “Keep this until my son should awake.“ He glanced at Faramir’s sweat-streaked face. “Or until the king should return.”

He donned his helm and took up a shield that bore neither charge nor device. After bowing before the vacant throne, Denethor departed to lead the defence of his City.


	12. Rider (Ioreth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Horseback" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly Livejournal community  
> Alternate universe--slight canon divergence

Ride a horse to Lossarnach? She feared the great, flighty beasts with their flying hooves and strange moods. And perch on its back with no saddle? She'd sooner ride on an oliphaunt!

But no aethelas could be found so now she must go in search with Mithrandir. A healer’s duty, she told herself.

Later, the other healers smiled and called her a true Rider of Rohan. But in her dreams, she heard again the steady thrum of hooves and felt the smooth grey flanks gather each mighty stride, springing into the air. And her heart sang along as they flew.


	13. Restoration (Aragorn, Faramir)

After a few stolen hours of sleep, Aragorn returned to the Houses of Healing to see how his charges had fared during his absence. The young steward slept heavily, stirring only slightly at the touch of Aragorn's hands on his face, but all signs of fever were gone. _Sleep is a skillful healer_ his foster father once told him, and he deemed that Lord Faramir would soon recover his health.

The tall guardsman still sat hunched over the bedside. His face was white under soot and dried blood, and numb with weariness, he was scarcely able to reply to Aragorn's questions. Handing him a coverlet, Aragorn ordered him to get some sleep. As proof of his utter exhaustion, the man obeyed the order without a murmur, falling into a heap on the floor by the foot of the bed. Aragorn took his seat.

He could linger for only a moment, for other sick and injured folk were still in need of his care. Yet he felt strangely restored as he watched Lord Faramir sleeping. The elves found rest by gazing on green leaves or into the star-dappled heavens, and so he found new strength as he looked at his charge. He lifted one of the sun-browned wrists and, with the ease of long practice, found the steady pulse. He caught himself smiling as he felt its strong beat. By some marvel, Aragorn had healed the deadly hurt to his body and mind, so now for both of them, there could be a new beginning. What other marvels might come to pass?


End file.
